


Bound by Blood

by Mayarene Rose (Paradise_of_Mary_Jane)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Dick Grayson is a Talon, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26733946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paradise_of_Mary_Jane/pseuds/Mayarene%20Rose
Summary: “We looked for you,” the woman in black says. “We tried to save you and we failed. You were dead.”She tilts her head at the last part like she’s asking a question. He thinks about it. People who are alive can be killed--that was why he was created in the first place.Talons can’t be killed--incapacitated, grievously injured to the point they won’t be useful, yes, but not killed--which means he’s not alive, but part of him thinks that he should be.“I am,” he says, because that’s what dead is: things that are supposed to be alive but aren’t.The woman doesn’t say anything for a long time. Nothing shifts in her posture or expression--though there’s not much to see on her face because of the mask--but he gets the impression that she’s thinking over his words.“Will you come home?” she asks.Now, he is Talon. Before, he was something else but he cannot remember what. The memory is lost to him no matter how hard he searches for it.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson
Comments: 45
Kudos: 269
Collections: Dick & Cass, everybody loves dick





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to write a Talon!!Dick fic but I never figured out how to go about it. This is my first attempt. Was supposed to write this for whumptober, except I only finished this fic so like, might as well post it now, right? (On the bright side, I have made progress on my mdzs fics, which is nice since it's been months already.)
> 
> Mind the warning. I am very bad at judging this kind of thing, so I'm playing it safe. 
> 
> Cass is wearing the Black Bat uniform btw. I don't know why it's very important to me that you know this, but it very much is.
> 
> That's all for now. Onwards!

His first memory is a family of three kneeling before him. His first memory is the unfamiliar weight of knives in his hands. His first memory is the strange feeling of not having a heartbeat.

His first memory is a masked woman telling him in a cold, detached, almost bored voice, to kill the family.

His first memory is the feel of the unfamiliar knife slicing through flesh and the sound of blood dripping from the blade and down to the ground.

“Stop,” the masked woman said, just as he raised the knife to kill the third member of the family. The youngest one. “Spare the boy. Let him serve as a reminder.”

So he let his arm fall to the side. 

The room was silent, save for the boy’s--just a child, really--screaming and desperate attempts to rouse his dead parents.

“Well done,” the masked woman said. “You’ve passed your test and completed your first mission. You’re one of us now. The first amongst our Talons.”

He doesn’t say anything. The child continued to scream, voice growing more hoarse and desperate with each moment.

“Let this be a cause of celebration,” the masked woman said. “Our Gray Son has finally come home.”

\--

He never did find out what happened in the celebrations. They led him out the room as soon as the bodies were cleaned up and put him to sleep not long after that.

He doesn’t know how long he sleeps, but through it all, he doesn’t stop hearing the child’s screams.

\--

Sometimes his masters wake him. They tell him to go to the corridors and hunt, so that’s what he does. He finds the lost, scared people there and he draws his knives. They scream when they see him, sometimes they beg, sometimes they cry, sometimes they fight.

He kills all of them without hesitation.

Once he finishes, his masters put him to sleep again.

Talons don’t dream, but the screams of everyone he’s killed follow him in his slumber.

\--

If anyone asks, he wouldn’t be able to say why he did it. Luckily, no one ever asks a Talon anything. They’re given orders: a starting point and an expected outcome. However they manage to get to said outcome was entirely up to them.

In this case, the starting point wasn’t very clear but the outcome was.

He gets up one day, takes his knives, and reports to his masters.

His masters like seeing him at regular intervals, like to show him off to the other, lesser Talons as an example. He’s their greatest creation, after all, or so his masters say. They like to see his skills, ensure their asset is still in perfect condition.

His masters tell him to stand before a nameless man. The man kneels before him, bound, trembling, and heaving great, loud sobs, just like that first family.

He does as he’s told.

His masters tell him to draw his knives, and he does that too.

His masters order a _demonstration,_ and he tightens his grip on his knives and does as he’s told. Just not in the way his masters expected.

He turns, slits the throat of one of his masters, then moves onto the other, then the other, then the other, then the other. The other Talons try to stop him but he makes quick work of them, too. Some put up a fight, but it doesn’t matter. He was built to be the greatest of them, after all. 

Talons cannot die but they can be incapacitated. He separates heads from bodies, locks them up and away from each other so they wouldn’t have the chance to heal. It’s a painful, unkind fate, but Talon was never made to be kind, and he was made to cause pain to others.

Soon enough, it’s just him, the man who is trembling more fiercely now, and dozens of bodies, splayed across the floor and piled on top of each other.

He cuts the man’s bonds. 

“Go,” he says. The word feels strange and uncomfortable, his voice unfamiliar to his own ears. He has the strange feeling that it’s not supposed to sound like that, but that’s a completely baseless idea. Talons are rarely allowed to speak, and he hasn’t been granted the privilege to do so yet. He thinks there may have been a time when he spoke freely, but he doesn’t remember it. “Don’t come back. Don’t speak of this to anyone.”

The man gets to his feet on shaky legs. He backs away, expression wide and twisted, stumbling over the dead bodies at his feet.

The man runs and the Talon is left alone.

He looks down at his hands, still gripping the knife tightly, the pale skin almost completely covered with blood.

He drops the knife, steps carefully over the bodies, and walks out as well.

\--

He keeps walking. His home is a maze but instinct tells him to go upwards, so that’s what he does. He goes up, and up, and up, and eventually he finds himself aboveground, in a dark alleyway, guarded on both sides by abandoned, dilapidated buildings.

He keeps going up until he finds himself on the rooftop. He doesn’t know why he’s there but it feels right. He knows this is where he should be.

It doesn’t take long for someone to find him. The person creeps up silently, so silently that he almost doesn’t hear it. They stop about an arm’s length away from him. He could run but he doesn’t want to. He thinks this probably won’t be a bad thing.

“Nightwing.” The voice comes out soft and questioning.

Something stirs inside him at the word. It’s a strange feeling, a sharp pain in his chest and a clawing in his mind. He thinks he’s supposed to know what it means, but he doesn’t. It irritates him, not knowing something he’s supposed to.

Irritates and… something else. He doesn’t know what to call the emotion but it makes his breath quicken and his muscles tense up.

He turns slowly and comes face-to-face with a woman, dark hair, and dressed in all black save for the bright yellow bat emblazoned on her chest, shining like a beacon. The strange feeling gets stronger and his body tenses up, wanting to run, except he doesn’t know why and he thinks that’s not really what he wants to do.

“You know me,” he says. It’s not a question. There would be no point in asking a question he already knows the answer to.

“You don’t remember.” It’s not a question, either. 

“I don’t remember anything.” Besides his masters, his orders, the room full of Talons, the maze of corridors, and people who trembled and cried and screamed.

There’s more, he knows, memories that are supposed to fill the empty void of before he was Talon, but there’s nothing to be found when he looks. Just blankness and the knowledge that it’s not supposed to be that way.

He tells himself he’s made peace with that, which is strange in itself. Talons aren’t supposed to feel enough to have to make peace with anything. 

The fact that he doesn’t quite believe himself makes everything worse.

“We looked for you,” the woman says. “We tried to save you and we failed. You were dead.”

She tilts her head at the last part like she’s asking a question. He thinks about it. People who are alive can be killed--that was why he was created in the first place. 

Talons can’t be killed--incapacitated, grievously injured to the point they won’t be useful, yes, but not killed--which means he’s not alive, but part of him thinks that he should be.

“I am,” he says, because that’s what dead is: things that are supposed to be alive but aren’t.

The woman doesn’t say anything for a long time. Nothing shifts in her posture or expression--though there’s not much to see on her face because of the mask--but he gets the impression that she’s thinking over his words.

“Will you come home?” she asks.

“I don’t know where home is,” he says. They said the maze is home, those dark halls filled with his masked masters, other Talons, and helpless people waiting for his blade. They told him that was home and he hadn’t known any better, so he thought of it as home too.

But the way the woman says _home_ is different. It feels warm, bright, filled with laughter and other unfamiliar sounds. There’s no screaming in the way she says home, no children who cried out for their parents.

“Batman,” the woman says without hesitation. “Batman is home.”

 _Batman._ A sharp pain in his head, a stab to his heart. He _knows_ that word, but he can’t remember. His hands clench. He doesn’t have his knives, but he feels them weigh on him. It feels strange, the thought of Batman right next to his knives that dripped with fresh blood. He doesn’t know what the emotion is called, either.

 _Terror. You’re scared._ The voice in his head feels like what he should sound like except it’s not the voice that comes out of his mouth. The voice in his head sounds much too alive and Talon isn’t alive.

The woman steps forward towards him, movements slow and deliberate. He tenses but he doesn’t run.

“We looked for you,” she repeats. “He never stopped.” It feels like an important distinction.

Another step. One more and she would close the gap between them. His instincts tell him to run, to get away, but he forces himself to stay where he is. He thinks he still wants to hear what she has to say.

“Batman doesn’t kill.” The words come unbidden. He doesn’t know where they come from but he knows they’re true. 

Batman doesn’t kill. Talon exists to kill. Those are the only two things he’s certain to be absolutely true.

“Batman doesn’t kill,” she says. “But you have.”

“I’m Talon,” he says. “Talon is born to kill.”

Her expression flickers, just slightly, in what may have been anger, and he takes an instinctual step back. 

She must notice because her face turns carefully blank again.

“I have killed too,” she says. “Do you remember?”

“No,” he says. Then, because he can’t stop the words from falling out his mouth, “What did Batman do to you?”

He’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

“He took me home,” she says. “Will you come home with me, Dick?”

She reaches out to take his hand in hers and he thinks he should pull away from her strong fingers but he doesn’t.

“You shouldn’t touch me,” he says. “I’m covered in blood.” He can still see it now, even in the dark; flecks of red, one on top of the other, until you can barely see any of the grey, lifeless skin underneath.

“We can clean it up,” she says. “We looked for so long. Come home with me. Please.” 

Her words are phrased like an order but she makes it sound like a question, like he can say no. 

Talon wasn’t made to say no, and part of him wants to try, just to see if he can, the way he can turn around and kill his masters, and free that man, and escape those screams.

But her touch is familiar and he knows her voice; he knows she isn’t lying to him.

“Alright,” he says.

Her lips widen into a wide, relieved smile, and she pulls him into a tight embrace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can't believe I'm continuing this fic, smh, but it just would not leave me alone. I cannot promise regular updates (or updates in general) because I actually have no idea where this is going, except for a few vague plans on the next few chapters, but well ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
>  **Warning:** I don't really know how to put this in the tags, but I also need to manage people's expectations now. Based on the vague plans I have, intense trauma is at the center of this story and characters will be reacting to it in sometimes messy, dysfunctional, and destructive ways. It's not going to have a happy middle and I'm pretty sure it's not going to have a happy end, either. If that's not your thing, that is completely understandable but you should probably stop reading now.
> 
> That's all for now. Onwards!

The person Cass takes back to the cave is not Dick Grayson.

The person wears his face, and sometimes, in the space of a breath, in the moments between heartbeats, she sees the memory of Dick Grayson caught up in the easiness with how he flies through rooftops and the flips that no one but Dick Grayson does, but it’s not him. 

This person has blood on his hands and no smile on his face. His eyes are distant and there is no easy laughter on his lips. His voice is different, flat and hoarse and lower than what she remembers. He does not know her. He recognizes the symbol on her chest but not enough to remember what it means _to him._

What she has with her is a shadow, a half-forgotten person at best and pure muscle memory at worst.

He is not the Dick Grayson who disappeared three years ago. He is not the Dick Grayson they lost.

She takes him home anyway.

“Oracle,” she says. “I’m coming back to the cave.”

“It’s a bit early, isn’t it? Did something happen?” Oracle’s voice comes out flat and mechanical through the comms, mediated by a computer. Cass can’t tell what she’s thinking and what parts she already knows and figured out even if she was good at reading voices, which she isn’t. It’s frustrating but it’s an old frustration, one she’s learned to live with. “And you’re not heading towards the cave.”

“Yes,” Cass says. “Something happened. Taking the long way home. Don’t check the cameras. Everything is fine.”

There are better, quicker ways to the cave, but the person with her is still skittish and hesitant. Cass wants to put him at ease, and he’s most at ease in the shadows and close to the sky. It’s not an easy combination to find but she can manage.

“That doesn’t actually fill me with confidence,” Oracle says.

Cass glances back towards the person who isn’t Dick Grayson. He’s still following her with no sign of wanting to run away and no sign of having any idea where they’re going. It hurts a bit but she can ignore that too, at least until they’re back home. She knows he can hear her, she can feel him listening, and he hasn’t run away yet. That’s probably a good sign.

“Everything’s fine,” Cass says, trying to sound more sure this time. She was never good at lying to Babs. “Batman needs to come home too.”

A pause. Cass pictures Babs in the clocktower, a furrow in her brow and frowning. 

“He’s with the League tonight and gave orders not to call him back unless absolutely necessary, you know this,” Oracle says. “Black Bat what’s going on--”

“Everything is fine,” Cass says. “But Batman needs to come home. Now.”

Batman isn’t going to react well to this but he _needs_ to be there when she takes this person home. He needs to see him. Three years of endless searching, bordering on grief-filled obsession, finally come to an end and this is the conclusion. If nothing else, he needs to know the truth, no matter how painful.

And this person… He remembers Batman, or at least parts of him. _Batman doesn’t kill,_ he said, like it was a condemnation, and part of Cass wants to remind him the better parts, that it wasn’t just about that. She wants to tell him _Baman cares, he loves you, he would never give up on you even if you give up on yourself, he will always be there for you, he wants what’s best for you, he just wants you to be happy._

She wants to tell him so many things, so many memories, all the things she knows Dick Grayson loved and had and what they lost when they lost him.

But this person isn’t Dick Grayson and he won’t know and he won’t remember. It wouldn’t be right to expect him to remember.

“Cassandra.” It doesn’t quite make sense, how Babs’ warning and disapproval flows so heavily through Oracle’s voice, but Cass doesn’t question it. It seems like something Babs can do. “Tell me what’s happening.”

Cass hesitates. She stops and looks back to the person who isn’t Dick Grayson again and he stares back at her. He clearly heard every word she said and possibly everything Oracle said. If he were Dick Grayson, he would have asked what was going on like Babs is asking, maybe with more concern in his voice, maybe a little softer and more gently, but he would ask. And he would be a whirlwind of movement while doing so, hands constantly fidgeting, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as if preparing to fly.

Dick Grayson wouldn’t be standing so still, so quiet, so blank-faced and distant and _complacent,_ waiting for orders instead of being the first to give them _._

This person isn’t Dick Grayson, though. He will probably never be Dick Grayson again. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to call him, and she doesn’t know how to explain out loud why she needs to take him home anyway even if he will never be the person they knew.

They won’t take it well, she knows. _She_ isn’t taking it well, always half-expecting to hear that bright laughter, gentle even voice come from the person who cannot give it. They would expect him to be a person he isn’t and it wouldn’t be fair to him, it would hurt him. And it would hurt them too.

No one will come out of this unscathed.

Part of her wonders if it would be kinder to leave him where he is, let the others mourn the Dick Grayson who was and let this one find his own way, find the person he is on his own, without the weight of expectations from the memory of a person everyone loved so dearly.

But she knows what it’s like to be alone, knows what it’s like to build yourself up on your own without anyone to catch you when you fall and with every mistake deadly. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone, and this person isn’t Dick Grayson but there is the memory of him, buried deep in his bones. He doesn’t deserve to be alone.

“I found Nightwing,” she forces herself to say. Move first and manage the consequences later. It’s how she survived this long and it’ll have to do for now. “I’m taking him home.”

For once, Oracle has nothing to say and Babs is completely silent. Cass forces herself to ignore it, ignore the problems and worries and scenarios building up in her mind. They’ll have time to deal with it later.

For now, they have to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of notes:  
> \- Most of the Batfam will appear in later chapters when I actually figure out what to do with this, so keep a watch for that.  
> \- While I'm using the court of owls, this story, like all my other DC fics, is generally set in the pre-52 universe, so expect character relationships to reflect that. I don't really have a good reason for doing this. I just like it there better.  
> \- I haven't read the comics in a while and I, for the life of me, cannot remember if Cass calls Barbara by her full name or Babs. I went with Babs because I want to.  
> \- Cass' ability to communicate out loud varies depending on what you're reading, ranging from completely unable to do so to basically having no verbal communication issues at all. I'm leaning more towards Cass defaulting to nonverbal cues and sign language and is more comfortable doing so. She can talk out loud if she absolutely needs to, but she often has trouble getting her whole idea across in those cases. 
> 
> I'm [acediscowlng](https://acediscowlng.tumblr.com) on tumblr, if you guys want to have a chat. And, as always, your comments give me life <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise bitches, I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me

Jason knows better than to get involved. 

He knows he shouldn’t. Whatever the family drama of the week is, he is _way_ better off minding his own business than actually sticking his head in, especially not when he already has the plausible deniability of actually not having to be involved for once.

It’s not often that kind of thing happens, not since three years ago and--

_Fuck no._ Jason shuts down that line of thinking quickly. He is not thinking about it and he is very much not acknowledging it. Again, it’s just one of those things he’s better off not doing.

So when he hears both his replacement and Babs’ voice in his ear, telling him their sister’s acting weird again, Jason should have known better than to butt his head in where he doesn’t have to. He should have been smarter than that.

He should have headed in the opposite direction, maybe found some drug dealer to beat up, maybe just fucking headed home and made himself some hot chocolate and called it a day. 

(The vigilante life is, objectively, an incredibly stupid and self-destructive life. It’s the kind that gets people killed-- _has_ gotten people killed, has gotten _him specifically_ killed. If Jason were a smarter person, he would have walked away a long time ago.

He thinks about it sometimes, walking away. 

He’s not really sure what would be left of his life without all the fighting and self-righteousness. Which, he thinks with no small amount of fury, is precisely the problem to begin with.)

But that’s not what he does because it fucking isn’t. He used to be smarter before. Now, he’s probably the same level of stupid as the dickhead who just upped and disappeared without a trace one day.

(Until now, no one has a single clue what happened there, and boy did everyone try-- _is trying--_ to find out. Dickhead had a lot of friends everywhere, powerful friends, friends who could alter the very fabric of reality, and not one of them could find him.

Jason’s a realist. People like them don’t just disappear. If you can’t find them, it’s because they _can’t_ be found. 

And there really is only one thing that can stop Dick fucking Grayson from staying in this life. They all know it. Jason’s probably one of the few people willing to acknowledge it, considering the amount of people still looking, three years later.

Stupid. Sweet and touching in its own way, but so fucking stupid.)

Still, it’s both Babs and Tim asking and Jason respects at least one of them enough to not just suddenly bail on them, so of course, he does as he’s told.

( _The good little soldier,_ and when the fuck did that happen even? What the fuck has his life become?

Jason knows the answer, of course. Like everything in his life, it’s because the original goods wasn’t there to do the job and Jason was the unfortunate bastard who was next in line.

Jason was an idiot who couldn’t say no then, and he’s still an idiot who can’t say no now.)

Trying to stop Cass from doing anything she wants to do is an exercise in futility, but exercises in futility have become Jason’s brand at this point. It’s a stupid habit to have but there he is, doing another thing he knows he’s gonna fail at out of some misguided sense of family.

Jason really wishes he wasn’t such an idiot sometimes.

Finding Cass herself wasn’t difficult--Babs said she was heading towards the cave and that Jason had to make sure she wouldn’t get there until Jason figured out what the fuck was going on and was sure that what the fuck was going on wasn’t going to trigger another breakdown.

Personally, Jason wouldn’t have bothered with any of it, but well…

Someone’s gotta do it, don’t they? And the guy who did it wasn’t there anymore so who else was gonna do it but him?

(He signed up for it, obviously, but deals made when you were twelve fucking years old should not be considered binding.)

When he finds her, he finds out pretty early on why she’s been acting so strangely. He’s surprised enough that he couldn’t even keep in the swearing.

He’d know that person anywhere. He’d know it in his sleep, in his dreams, in a magic-induced haze. He’s spent every possible opportunity from the age of twelve to fifteen committing every single detail regarding that person to memory. 

And scratch out what he said. Apparently, not even that one thing can stop that asshole from coming back.

Jason should have known better. He’s literally living proof of how ineffective of a deterrent death is.

Dick Grayson stares back at him, golden-- _golden_ instead of his own brand of Disney blue--eyes, wary, tense, and with no hint of recognition on his face.

He also looks like a fucking corpse, clothes completely soaked in blood and black veins creeping up his neck.

“ _What the fuck_?”

Cass’ chin juts out, just slightly, standing in front of Dick Grayson. Defensive. Like she’s hiding him, which is utterly pointless since he’s a good foot taller. It’s a weird move, and the fact that she’s even trying means she probably knows how bad her idea is but is committing to it like a true child of Batman.

Fucking idiots. Idiots the lot of them.

“I found him,” she says. “I’m taking him home.”

“I can see that.” Jason swears again, under his breath. “I’m asking again, _what the fuck_?” How? When? What exactly is your plan here Cassandra Cain?

Cass narrows her eyes, “you can’t stop us,” she says, which would be a threat from anyone else but simple fact from her, which. Jason’s not gonna argue that. He _can’t_ stop Cass from doing anything, and who even knows what this freaky version of Dick Grayson can do.

“I just hope you know,” he bites out, “how bad of an idea this is.”

Dick Grayson, the favorite child, looking like a corpse, soaked in blood, suddenly turning up after going missing for three years? Yeah, that’s just gonna go over so well with the old man.

Cass shrugs. “Like a bandaid,” she says.

Jason closes his eyes. He opens them and they’re still there, like a nightmare and dream at the same time.

He steps closer, and it happens in a flash:

He realizes something in a split second: Cass wasn’t trying to hide Dick from Jason, she was trying to stop Dick from _attacking_ Jason, and Jason witnesses something he’s never seen before, Cassandra Cain completely and utterly _failing._

Cass tries to block Dick and _isn’t fast enough._ Then, Dick surging forward and drawing a knife, Jason freezing in place as the golden boy from three years ago points a wicked sharp knife his way.

Jason has drawn his gun less than a beat later. He has no fucking clue what’s going on, but he knows better than anyone what happens to dead things unwillingly brought back to life. He doesn’t trust this too-pale Dick Grayson anywhere near the cave, not when he holds a knife caked with blood like it’s part of his own body.

Jason knows being dead and then not being dead, and he’s been saddled with a lot of things that the guy standing in front of him is supposed to be doing before he went and _died_ , and he’s not happy about any of that, but he likes the idea of failing even less.

Jason doesn’t fail and he doesn’t drop the ball, not on the important things.

And he doesn’t trust that thing standing in front of Cass even if _she’s_ reckless enough to let a complete unknown back into their family, no questions asked.

“I’m going home,” the corpse version of Dick Grayson says. “To Batman.”

That wasn’t a threat either.

“Listen here--”

“Uh, Jason, I hope this isn’t a bad time,” Tim says through the comms.

_This is the absolute worst time,_ Jason wants to yell, but doesn’t. Dick twitches like he hears, and fuck no, Jason’s not letting him anywhere near the cave. Not if he can help it.

“Anyway, uh I hope you sorted that thing with Black Bat out cause the Big Man came back early and he’s heading your way.”

_Fuck._

“ETA,” Jason forces out, not taking his eyes off Dick, even as Cass comes between them again, her stance ready for a fight. He doesn’t know which one she’s going to fight first if things come to a head and he has no interest in finding out.

“Now?” Tim says, just as a shadow descends upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this fic is still a thing. I still have no idea where it's going, tbh, so if yall have any suggestions or requests, feel free to drop them into the comments. Something very angsty because that's what this fic is for lol
> 
> I'm [acediscowlng](https://acediscowlng.tumblr.com) on tumblr, if yall wanna have a chat :D

**Author's Note:**

> You know what I don't see any fics of? Talon!Dick bonding with Cass. I want to see more of it. I want to see more of Dick and Cass bonding, in general. Or just Cass, but I'll take what I can get.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](https://acediscowlng.tumblr.com) if y'all want to chat. And, as always, your comments give me life <3


End file.
